Chapter One:Alexander Wesley
30, April 1789
The Pirate Ship, Fylgja: Captain's QuartersFire is the only useful element. Water dampens morale. Earth is only helpful when one wishes to be unclean. Air causes disarray. But fire…fire eliminates fear. When fire is in one's possession, it makes that person invincible; it makes that person feel as if the entire world's energy is balanced on the pads of their fingertips. Fire saved my life.
I tear off bits of my uneaten biscuit and toss them into my lit candle, picturing an image of flame sizzling over human flesh. I still hear screams from the past at night, but I feel no remorse for my actions. Even though I know the refrains for forgiveness will forever encompass my eardrums. I'm lost these days, forging for the secret to my father's success. I tell the other crew members that we are headed for a place of great wealth and promise, but I know they only follow my commands because I am the new captain. We spend our days at sea traveling without purpose or destination. I can feel the others growing more anxious as time drags on, but I can't find it in myself to create a valid heading. Maybe one day I'll learn to be like my father. Learn to make us all rich again. Not today, but in the future possibly. When the fire stops consuming my humanity.
"Captain Alexander, I need to speak with you." My cabin door slams open with an echo.
I cringe away from the sudden noise, neither knowing nor caring whom the voice belongs to. "Alexander was my father's name. I thought I made it clear that I am to be called Zander."
"I apologize. It's an old habit." I recognize the voice to belong to my father's old best friend, and my new first mate, Harry Denmount. His left ear was burned off years ago in an English raid. I hear it's a captivating story, but I can only think of how his injury could have been prevented if he knew how to control destruction. I forgive him somewhat, though, now that I know losing control of destruction can happen to anyone. My father included.
"Make that habit die in haste, Harry. I cannot very well command this ship whilst always being reminded of my father's failure."
I can see a muscle on Harry's jaw jump in effort to conceal the words he wishes he could say. 'You have done a poor job commanding this ship in the past two months so why would being called Alexander make any difference?' he is thinking, 'Besides, how can any of us forget the past when it is marked on your face as a nightmarish reminder to us all?'
Though instead of saying what I know everyone on this ship is thinking, he nods and continues with his business. "The loss of the former Captain Alexander is still unknown and therefore our reputation has not deteriorated."
I let out a venomous laugh and twirl around in my chair to face Harry. "My father is dead, all our money and power is lost, and we're sailing to nowhere, but now thanks to you it seems as if our troubles are over since our reputation is not lost! Hallelujah."
"Captain…our reputation is all we have left." Harry walks nearer to my desk, taking ginger steps as if one false footfall would leave him plunging into the water.
I pick up a roll from the basket placed in front of me and hurl it in Harry's direction, my anger making the bread miss my target and collide with the wall instead. "Our reputation is based off a lie!" I holler, banging my fist on the desk. "My father knew how to manipulate a person, that is true, but from now we will be getting our reputation of fear and respect by earning it, not by insane fabrications."
"But will that—"
"Do not interrupt me when I'm speaking," I hiss. "You may have been favored by my father, but that affection does not transcend generations. You will have to work to gain my admiration, and right now all I'm feeling towards you is annoyance."
"Yes, Captain. Though I do have something else to tell you," Harry begins timidly.
I raise my eyes to meet his. "What is it?"
Harry swallows. "There was a ship spotted on the horizon, heading for us." He pauses. "The admiral's ship."
I drop my ruthless façade instantly, feeling the despair strike across my features. The screams return again, filling my head with visions of the past. Fire, blood, and pain, oh so much pain.
"Make anchor," I say gravely, "we attack at nightfall."